City of Angels
by JennnyJ
Summary: Based on the movie City of Angels. Sherlock first sees the army doctor in Afghanistan fighting for a patient's life and later on the streets of London. A fall will turn the angel human. Will Sherlock risk everything he knows for the ability to feel?
1. Prologue

The big, orange sun stood high on the sky and not as much as a breeze swept through the camp, making it the second hottest day in Afghanistan that month. Muffled cries could be heard from a large gathering of tents but the green-dressed men passing by didn't seem to notice – their tired, bloodstained eyes told us they were used to it.

Sherlock placed his hands on his back as he stood next to the wounded man, his blue eyes travelling over the doctors and nurses doing what they could do save his life. He'd been reckless, the young fool, refusing to return to the camp at the set time – he'd still been in the village when the other troupes arrived. He wouldn't survive and Sherlock put one of his boney hands on the soldier's shoulder, prepared to take him away.

"I won't let you die on me, not today – not on my watch", the doctor in charge swore as the young man got worse, his breathing coming more irregular. "Finley, I need a scalpel and some clean cloths"  
"John-", a brunette woman placed her hand on the doctor's arm. "We can't save him."  
"Sure as hell we can", John shouted, his face steadily growing redder. Sherlock tilted his head, captured by the fire in the other man's eyes. The message was clear: he would fight for him.  
And then it happened, the impossible, the doctor locked his eyes with Sherlock's and the dark haired angel froze, his grip around the dying man tightening a bit. "Sure as hell", John echoed in a more gathered tone before he broke the eye contact in order to start the operation.  
Sherlock was shell shocked. He stood there for half an hour, mesmerized by the fact that the doctor wouldn't give in even though everyone else had done so from the moment the wounded man returned to the camp. But his time had come and Sherlock was forced hear John's cry when he lost his patient, his very first in a long time.

"He did all he could", a voice said and Sherlock nodded, his gaze drifting to the man now standing next to him, looking down at his former body. "I was a fool"  
"Indeed you were", Sherlock answered, returning his gaze to the doctor with a secret wish he'd look at him again. "Shot four times, one bullet damaging the right lung and another piercing your thigh, you were a lost case from the very beginning. You should have ignored that hunger of yours. Honestly, sneaking into a house to steal some bread? Foolish indeed"  
The young man, barely twenty years old, hung his head in shame and Sherlock sighed.  
"Are you ready to move on?" He asked without much feeling, the soldier had grown boring the moment he died. The army doctor stopped shouting, just as the spirit of his lost patient moved on, and fled the tent, his hands still covered in blood. Without hesitating, Sherlock followed.

He found the doctor on the other side of the camp, leaning hard against an empty barrack. His strong shoulders were shaking and the blood on his hands had already dried in the heat.  
As if he'd just realized that John started scrubbing his hands with such intensity Sherlock was afraid he'd start bleeding himself. A look of utter disgust fell over his face and the next moment he was down on the ground, vomiting as tears streamed down his face.  
Sherlock sank onto his knees so that his face was in level with the other man's and through his mind he tried to call for his attention, he wanted to gaze into those eyes so filled with heat and life just one more time. He wanted to feel _alive_. Only for another second.  
"I should have tried harder, I should have-", John whispered between sobs and used his sleeve to clean traces of vomit from his face before he leant his back against the wall and closed his eyes, sweat trickling down his face. Sherlock closed his own eyes and he could soon feel how he left Afghanistan and the doctor behind.


	2. Chapter 1

_ "He looked right at me, Mycroft", Sherlock said for the tenth time where they sat on the parliament roof, unseen by the humans below. "Right at me"_  
_ "You know he can't have seen you if you didn't choose to become visible – which you can't have done because then the others would have seen you too", the chubbier angel said, shaking his head as he twirled his umbrella.  
Sherlock pursed his lips, his mind running faster than ever before. "I think I'll show myself to him, Mycroft. Just one more time"_  
_ "And what good will that do you? You won't feel anything anyway", Mycroft stood, shaking his head. "Take my advice and forget that man."_  
_ Sherlock didn't answer; he just sat there and stared at the humans walking several meters below.  
For the first time in his existence he wondered what it would be like, being human._


	3. Chapter 2

"Excuse me, you forgot this at the store", Sherlock reached a jar of jam to the puzzled ex army doctor who leant heavily against a crutch. He'd been shot, the angel could tell by his posture.  
"Thank you", John said after a while and took the jar with a nod. Sherlock could _see_ how his fingers brushed against his skin but he couldn't feel anything, not the slightest warmth.  
"I'm Sherlock", he said as he walked next to the blond man, his hands now in his coat pockets.  
"John Watson", the doctor answered, glancing at the other man with a hint of a smile on his lips. It was the first time he'd smiled since he came home from the war. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock. You want a cup of tea?"  
"Yes, please", Sherlock smiled but couldn't help wondering if John Watson still thought about that day in Afghanistan, the day when he lost that patient. Because _he_did, all the time.

"So, tell me something about yourself", John offered him a cup of tea and was about to warn him not to burn himself when Sherlock took a sip without showing any reaction at all to the warm drink even though it should have hurt. He frowned, only lightly, but said nothing about it.  
"Isn't much to tell", Sherlock said, avoiding the question as his eyes travelled over the small apartment. "Nice place"  
"It isn't much, but its home I guess", John blew on his tea before he took a careful sip, grimacing at the warmth. "How the hell did you manage to drink your tea with such an ease?"  
Sherlock swallowed, realizing that normal humans should have felt the warmth and reacted to it.  
He really did need to pay more attention to what he did and didn't do. "So, John – you were an army doctor, what did you do before that?"  
The blond man's frown deepened at the obvious change of subject but soon began to tell his new friend about his life before the war – the time when he was still whole.


	4. Chapter 3

"I've always loved his work"  
John jumped at the sound of the sudden voice and turned his head to see Sherlock standing at the end of the shelf in his usual dark coat with a smile on his lips.  
"Same", he admitted after a while, his gaze returning to the book in his hand whilst a blush spread over his cheeks. He knew he'd been looking at him longer than acceptable. "I like the way he uses his words"  
"I like the deductions", Sherlock were suddenly standing very close to him, leaning over John's shoulder to see just which copy he was holding, "and how he lets the protagonist use all his senses to solve a case and not just his eyes."  
John smiled, nodding his head as he agreed with the other man. "You come here often?"  
"Often enough", Sherlock smiled to himself when he saw how John's cheeks reddened when his breath touched his neck. "Please, John. That woman over there, in the pink clothes, would you deduce her for me?"  
"Sherlock, she's _alive _not some murder victim in a book", John whispered, shaking his head as his grip around the book tightened.  
"A bit obvious yes, but please continue", Sherlock stepped back, leaning against the bookshelf as he watched the doctor. "Use your senses, just like the character in Doyle's book."  
John glanced at Sherlock, licking his lips before he returned his gaze to the woman. "Her choice of clothes tells us she likes to dress up and even though I can't feel her scent at this distance I assume she wears a fruit scented perfume and-"  
Sherlock kept silent, watching John as he continued to paint a picture of the woman's character without more to go on than her clothes, hair and posture.


	5. Chapter 4

There should have been blood, lots of blood. The cut had gone deep and John had seen enough wounds to tell that he should have bled. So why didn't he?  
"Sorry, so sorry", Sherlock mumbled, pressing a cloth against his hand as he stepped away from the table and the vegetables. "I'm okay-"  
"You shouldn't be okay", John said, folding his arms as he eyed the man. It had been two weeks since their first meeting, as far as he knew anyway, and the two of them had started to spend more time together. He enjoyed the other man's company but there was something very, very wrong with him. Why the hell didn't he bleed? "Let me see that cut, I'm a doctor"  
"No, really", Sherlock backed towards the door, his gaze flickering. "It's nothing."  
"That knife is one of my sharpest, it might be serious", John took the kitchen in three long steps and Sherlock watched in silence when he took the cloth from his hand to reveal nothing but a thin, white line which already started to fade.  
"Bloody hell", John murmured, his fingers tracing the scar. Sherlock closed his eyes, wishing for the hundredth time that he could feel something, _anything_. "What the-?"  
"I can't tell you, I'm sorry", Sherlock whispered, moving his hand away.  
"You can't feel heat, you don't bleed…", John shook his head, stepping away from the tall man with his lips pressed to a thin line. "I'm going crazy, you don't exist – do you? My therapist keeps telling me that I'm not alright but I never thought it would be this bad, I never thought-"  
"John", Sherlock reached a hand to put on his shoulder but changed his mind and let it fall to his side again. "I wish I could explain everything to you, but I can't"  
"Out", John pointed at the door, his head turned away so he didn't have to look at him.  
Sherlock stiffened, his face twisting. He opened his mouth but closed it again, his eyes fixed on the blond man. But with a sigh he soon left the flat and John far behind.


End file.
